


Recuérdame

by Cleverclove



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Angst, Everything Hurts, Le Chèrve Has Problems, M/M, Major Character Mind-Wipe, late-night writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverclove/pseuds/Cleverclove
Summary: Four days. Tigress approaches him with a slightly crumpled letter, and he sees the pity in her eyes. He hates it. He snatches the envelope and mumbles a small “merci” before speeding off. He didn’t even have to read. Antonio’s neat, if a bit too loopy, handwriting formed For Le Chèrve, In Case Something Happens in dark blue ink. He’s not ready.
Relationships: El Topo | Antonio/Le Chèvre | Jean-Paul
Comments: 17
Kudos: 96





	Recuérdame

Two days. El Topo had been gone for two days. Everything Le Chèrve remembers is a blur. Vaguely, he could remember shouting, mostly in his own voice, the Cleaners, and El Topo’s bloodied face. His half-sobs as he struggled against the strapped chair while Dr. Bellum stood over him, mind wiper in hand. He could remember Mime Bomb and Tigress, only two and yet  _ so very crowding _ , showing genuine solemnity in their tearful gazes. 

Three days. That was how long it took Le Chèrve to get furious. Strangling Paper Star after some of her taunts went too far too soon. Spitting at Professor Maelstrom when he suggested that he take a break because of his “difficult conduct.”  _ Difficult conduct _ . Perhaps he should have murdered Paper Star, if only to see if Maelstrom was really that uncaring. And he could remember the Cleaners taking a single, small frame of El Topo smiling gently on one of his missions. Le Chèrve’s phone got confiscated during his break. When he got it back, El Topo’s number, photos, and texts didn’t exist. Not anymore.

Four days. Tigress approaches him with a slightly crumpled letter, and he sees the pity in her eyes. He hates it. He snatches the envelope and mumbles a small “merci” before speeding off. He didn’t even have to read. Antonio’s neat, if a bit too loopy, handwriting formed  _ For Le Chèrve, In Case Something Happens _ in dark blue ink. He’s not ready. 

Five days, and he finally gets to slap Carmen Sandiego. Carmen clearly did not expect the ferocity in his voice, and if anything, she seems more hurt by what he says.

“For every mission failed because of you,” he growls as one lash lands across her cheek. 

“For Gray,” he continues heatedly while another gloved hand fists up and hits her in the jaw.

“AND THIS IS FOR EL TOPO!” The final blow knocks her to the ground, and he really should kill her then and there. Take the ruby ring of some British Monarch he neither knows nor cares about. And yet, she leaves alive and he leaves with no ring. He doesn’t see Carmen open her swollen mouth to say something, only to bite her lip before leaving.

That night, he allows himself to take the blame, punching the wall and staring blankly at the blood traveling down his knuckles in the darkness. Good. He deserves it. He deserves every second of it. He thrusts the letter across the room in anger. Not an hour later, when his fists are still raw but with no flowing blood, he picks it up as if carrying a small child, and puts it down on the writing desk just as tenderly. 

Six days, and the ache still lingers. Operatives who happen to stay at the same awful motel stare across the halls, some out of sympathy and some out of wariness. He hates them all. The obvious solution is to simply lock himself in the little inn room V.I.L.E. could afford. He stares at the letter, then the holes near the corner of the wall of his room, all approximately the size and shape of his fist. It doesn’t matter, V.I.L.E. payed for this, anyway. He looks at the letter he tried to ignore.  _ Well _ , he thinks,  _ I suppose there is no avoiding it now _ . Hesitantly, he tears the sealed envelope to reveal a piece of binder paper, ink noticeably smudged as if it had been wet. Unfolding it, Le Chèrve braces himself for anything.

_ Mi  _ <strike> _ amigo _ </strike> _ amor, _

_ If you have received this, I am either dead or you are permanently gone from my memory. Well, if I got my memory erased, I may as well be dead. I had nothing when I applied to V.I.L.E. Academy, and I doubt anything has changed. Please do not cry. If you can tell from the spots on this paper, I have done too much of that already. If you saw the word amor, well, it is almost the same in France, is it not? And I mean it. You’ll never see me again anyway, so I am not afraid. Not anymore. Sí, you read that right. I love you. Te amo. Je t’aime. I am sorry for not telling you before, but you deserve to know. I’m just too much of a coward sometimes, I guess. Did you feel the same way? I imagine you do not. I was probably nothing more than a burden to you. I saw how the Faculty looks at me. How everyone looked at me. I held you back. Perhaps that is why you are reading this in the first place. Did I ruin something  <strike> again </strike> ? Lo siento for whatever I did, but I am a mole. Take a mole out of its tunnel and dirt gets everywhere. It is simply the way of the world. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it wasn’t your fault. There is a saying where I come from. “El tiempo todo lo cura.” Roughly translated, it says, “Time heals all wounds.” Give it time, Le Chèrve. You had a life without me before, and you can have it again. Go as high as you can reach. No one will hold you back anymore. I would say see you later, but we both know that is not true. Es adíos. _

_ Te amo, _

_ Antonio _

And he breaks. The lump in his throat elicits tears. He collapses onto his knees as sobs wrack his whole body. If El Topo really felt that way, they could have had something more. Le Chèrve could have told him everything, about how  _ remarkable  _ El Topo truly was, how everything felt right with him, how Le Chèrve only needed to see him to fall a little more in love. The letter is pressed against his chest like a lifeline because he can’t hug the writer, kiss his lips, sob into his shoulder while he whispers apologies for everything. The world outside goes on, and Le Chèrve’s has just been lost. Forever.

_ Fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Cleverclove has been busy lately, but I’m okay! Thanks for reading, and I’ll be glad to see your guys’ input. Hope you enjoyed, and I’m sorry if my fics are too short, I’m still struggling to do actual fanfic.


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